Cooking Mishap
by Applecake
Summary: It all started with a bet. A bet rightfully based on a cooking contest. But they’re both horrible cookers. So who’s the winner? Who should be the slave for the other? You decide. Minto x Kish [AU] [Chapter 2 UP]
1. In Kish's Case

Cooking Mishap

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew**

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Chapter one: In Kish's case

"You're hopeless! You're really hopeless!" the derisive voice of thirteen years old Taruto tortured Kish's head implausibly. "How could you even consider something so preposterous?"

The green haired alien stared while his younger friend went berserk, shouting various statements concerning his ill-decision conclusion. His mouth had been functioning like a motorboat nonstop for a full twenty minutes. Yet still, Kish himself couldn't find anything the situation had to bowl over.

" Kish, you've got to be kidding! This is absurd!"

He sighed at Taruto's babbling. The three of them currently inhabited at the location of Pai's house--much to his displeasure.

"Well, don't blame me. She was the one who started it. You saw her nosy attitude."Kish expostulated, flopping down on the velvet couch in pretend despair. "It isn't fully my fault."

"Sure," Taruto rolled his eyes.

Kish lowered his eyelids nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm sure I stand a fair chance."

"You're mad! Why, of all the things you could have said, this was just the stupidest!" The brown haired teen cried. He looked ready to implode and burst from his position in a rampage.

Pai suppressed a side comment. He nodded correspondingly.

"So what? It's not like she can do much either," Kish pointed proudly. "If you ask me, I'd say she's ten times worst than me! Heck, she's never even tried performing such a task! All her work's done accordingly by her loyal maids. Face it, she has no skill whatsoever." He crossed his arms, taping a thick, ridiculous smirk on his mouth.

"Like you have any familiarity," Taruto countered.

"C'mon, give me a break, will you? All you guys have to know is that I understand more than she does," Kish assured.

Pai and Taruto gaped. Gradually, they began conjuring up the scene that took place barely a few hours ago. Instantly, disapproval soaked their faces.

--- (Flashback)

_"Okay, class, the next step will be the most crucial part in the recipe. If you mess this one up, there is a good possibility your whole cake will get ruined. Remember, do it exactly as I tell you. Don't take twists and turns to attempt adding in more flavor; it'll most likely result in a massive rock of ineligible gunk. Please proceed with caution."_

_The serious voice of Mr. Narutaki, the cooking teacher froze the pupils in their tracks. Everyone gawked straight at him as he explained the requirements. All gave understanding and determined bobs along each sentence. Several teens were clenching their fists, looking as if it'd be the end of the world if they were to miss one single word of the important speech. Nobody wanted to end up making an awful tasting pastry. Especially after all the work they've done for the past week. Following studying the perfect piece of instructions, they were ordered to get home to practice their procedures. The planning and material needs took nearly four days to accomplish. Finally, undergoing tests, quizzes, and oral exams regarding catering, today came._

_Despite the dangerous warning, one boy literally ignored the teacher's call. _

_Kish sat stirring his mixture of ingredients starkly, spraying tiny particles of dough around the table in small chunks. His speed accelerated with the multiplying swirls. The turns using his wrist increased. He moved the big spoon side to side; concentrated directly at forcing the outcome to develop correctly. _

_However, it seemed the more he pressed at the stubborn batter, the rougher its surface became._

_Taruto glanced at his friend's wrong doings. He shook his head, feeling sympathy for him._

_"_ Kish_, you're not supposed to stir so hard," he informed quietly, wiping a yellow stain on his apron. "You're to do it lightly, gently, just enough to urge it smooth."_

_Kish__ stole a single look . . . then went back to his duty._

_The chestnut haired boy pouted. He took his own bowl out and acted out his advice. He allowed his wrist to move moderately, at normal pace, causing the concoction to gleam. Each stroke was delicate. Upon farther inspection, the matter in the holder could easily be mistaken for warm milk. Before long, the dough was like pure white silk._

_"Here, that's the **right** way!" he stated proudly, elevating his completed work above his head. _

_Kish__ only grimaced. He didn't bother to mimic. He hated being told off by anyone younger than him. Instead, he copied his own desires, spinning his goop harder and harder. He spun until the substance piled up in a gruesome heap; an identical comparison to a clay mountain._

_Taruto laughed. He was entertained by this. "That's why you should bear in mind my flawless suggestions," he shrugged, half-sneering. "Well, whether you did it right or not, you'll have to listen to what Mr. Narutaki has to say now."_

_The forest-colored head glared. But nevertheless, he shifted his attention to the adult instructor._

_"Okay, everybody, put exactly one teaspoon of baking powder and one teaspoon of baking soda in," Mr. Narutaki commanded, demonstrating his directions with his personal mound of elements._

_The mass of students hurriedly did as told. Taruto spread the spoonfuls peacefully on his uncooked cake and mixed. His deed achieved no harm for the shiny flour. Kisshu, on the other hand was having great difficulty. His pie already morphed into a fine piece of solid rock. Angry, he smashed at it, making no better of the situation than it already was. The green haired boy scrunched up his face in disgust._

_Across from him, Minto Aizawa was experiencing the same problems. Except hers was much worst. Her cake contained impossible colors. Streaks of melted sugar were surrounding the bowl's border. The batter was thick--crusted; totally the opposite of the original model. It looked absolutely revolting. __Kish__ eyeballed her humorously. For some particular reason, her lack of effort amused him. Resembling a flicker of light, he forgot his own predicament. His mouth expressed a rumbling laugh._

_Minto stopped her smacking. She turned west; where her teasing classmate rested and uttered a low growl._

_"What do you think you're looking at?" she hissed pitilessly. Kisshu, mildly surprised at her outburst simply smiled. The girl got fervent so soon._

_"At you, of course," he answered casually. "Oh, I mean, your "beautiful" cake."_

_Her cheeks puffed up in embarrassment if not irritation. She nimbly dropped her work on the wooden table with a soft 'thud.' "You have no right!" _

_"It's a free county," he said knowingly. He drowned his gaze deeper in her angle. "Besides, I worried you're sick. You don't look like you're in any shape to cook . . . if anything it'd have to take someone who has serious imagination problems to make an unconventional dessert the likes of that. . . ."_

_The blue haired girl prepared to utter a 'shut-up'. Her hand gripped the blending instrument tightly, knuckles turning red due to the hard squeeze._

_"I don't blame you. You've never **had** to cook!" __Kish__ rambled. He was fixated on his new joke discovery. "At this rate, you'll make the most awful wife in __Tokyo__! Whoever heard of a woman unable to cook?"_

_She shuddered at his foul language. Her lips formed into a stretched straight line as she struggled to fight back._

_"Well, look who's talking," she snapped. "You're not doing it correctly as well so you've no permission to comment so spitefully on me." Her eyes appeared to have caught fire. It was then that a new insult blared inside her mind._

_She pushed some escaping tresses from her ear back up her bun. "It's no wonder Ichigo never praised your homemade food back then."_

_This remark struck __Kish__ centric in the stomach. Instantly, he dropped his mockery act. Minto smirked in triumph._

_"How dare you say that!" he hissed. Out of the blue, his anger side surfaced. "How dare you bring Ichigo into the conversation!"_

_"Well, it is true, isn't it?" Minto retorted. There was an odd glint in her left orb. "Why, I remembered clearly that time when you bought the cookies to class . . . they were baked by your own two hands may I add . . ."_

_"That's it!" he roared lowly. "At least I can handle the "structure", even though I dumped in wrong "contents"! I got one part down, unlike you. You're so lazy; you'll never learn to cook properly! Consider yourself the dumbest chef in the world!"_

_Minto diverted her gaze. "That so?" she asked._

_Kish__ crossed his arms slyly. He forced a teasing smirk. "Just as I predicted. All riches are useless. They can't even bake a pie the right side up."_

_She raised her eyebrows in fury._

_"A rich girl? Me?" _

_"Richy, richy, richy!" he prattled. _

_"Why you little--" _

_"You rich, rich, rich, rich, rich, spoiled girl!" __Kish__ gibbered. "Minty is a rich girl!"_

_"You freaky eared single!" she hollered. _

_"Inexperienced wife!" _

_"Jerk!" _

_"Spunky woman!" _

_"Grinning fish!"_

_The battle over wits continued. Numerous teens exchanged confused glances. Even Pai, the young, calm teen who ignored practically everything that goes on around him was influenced by the hot argument._

_"I bet you can't make something decent enough for **one** person's satisfaction," he challenged. _

_"I bet I can!" Minto opposed. _

_"Can not!" _

_"Can too!" _

_"Can not!" _

_"Can too!" _

_"Can not!" _

_"Can too!" _

_"Can not!" _

_"Can TOO!" _

_"Fine!" Frustrated, he sat down. "Fine, Minty . . . I'm going to hold that bet."_

_"What?"_

_"You know the cooking contest coming up?" he asked. She narrowed her eyes._

_"What about it?"_

_"Well, we are to enter it! You and me! I—"he never got to finish his sentence. An eager Minto barged in promptly, signifying agreement to the idea. _

_"The person who gets the higher score tallied wins the bet!" she declared. "IF **I** WIN, YOU HAVE TO BE MY SERVANT FOR THREE MONTHS!"_

_Kish__ snickered. "But if I win, you have to be MY slave for three months."_

_The girl bit her tongue, shooting hateful looks at the leering boy a yard crosswise from her._

_"Fine."_

_--- (End flashback) _

" Kish, you'll never win,' Taruto murmured, shaking off the rest of the ugly occurrence from view. "You'll have to be obtuse to enter that advanced cooking contest."

The elder being merely grinned. "Don't worry. I've got it all under control."

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**Apple: **YAY! Minto x Kish! This is the first chapter. I'm sorry if it isn't to your liking. Yeah, I am fully aware of the fact that very few people support them. But I like them. And I'd like to write something centric on the two. So, if by any chance somebody got offended, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! 


	2. In Minto's Case

Cooking Mishap

**Chapter Two: In Minto's Case**

"Minto, are you absolutely _sure_ you wish to carry on with this bet? If you cross any uncertainty of the sort, feel free to back down."

Minto Aizawa blew a sigh passed her lips for the tenth time that afternoon.

"Seriously, Ichigo, there's no need for you to keep nagging me like this," she said torpidly. "I'm persistent, now stop it."

Following the previous issue from catering class, the red headed girl had been following her endlessly, jamming tons of questions along the lines of "Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?" galore. The dialogues were beginning to bounce out of hand. Minto quickly found herself becoming greatly disturbed.

"But Minto, you don't know Kish! He can do some really weird things . . ."she began.

"Believe me Ichigo, I know Kish," Minto drawled. "I mean, let's face it. He's been bothering me like heck for a long time now so what's not to expect? And even if he hadn't been bothering _me_, surely he's after you! Believe the unexpected!"

"A-after me . . .?" the girl with the shoulder length crimson hair stammered. Though Ichigo fully comprehended what she meant, she didn't at all enjoy being given reminders of the eavesdropper that had been tailing her for years.

"It's called _observation_, Ichigo," the strutting student stated knowingly. "You _observe_ things—or _living_ things for that matter around your friends, see? And I happened to have learned plenty during those bothersome interactions in which that insane guy goes hunting you down."

A mist of embarrassment surrounded the middle region of Ichigo's face, painting her former pale cheeks a tainted red. Minto smirked lightly at the picture.

"So there's nothing to worry about! It'll be a piece of cake!" she assured, sustaining her prolonged sermon. "You saw his junk back there, didn't you? HA! He can cook alright! _Not_!"

Ichigo was unimpressed. She shuddered uncomfortably, pondering frantically for further justifications. "If you lose, you'll have to crawl under his foot for three whole months! THREE!" she cried, pushing three firm fingers in the air, only to have Minto thump them down absent-mindedly.

"I _won't_ lose! Quit saying discouraging things like that!"

"But what if you do? What then?"

The young lady accompanied by spherical buns upon the head averted her gaze. This was SO not her day. It was enough that she was under heavy pressure. But with Ichigo jumping around in her front of her like some kind of demented maniac all through the school building made it much worst. Glancing up at the ceiling in exasperation, she exhaled—loudly; one of the most unlike-Mint things to do.

"Ichigo, can you please do me a favor and grab a brain? I'm not losing! If I had planned on losing to start with, I wouldn't have agreed with this bet! . . . Therefore, I'm asking one last time, STOP IT!" Minto yapped, huffing out shipments of unwanted oxygen.

Ichigo laid back. There were still, unfortunately, doses of excuses clotting her expression. She didn't appear to be satisfied at all.

The taller teen glanced around nervously, while following behind the stiff Minto, eyes shifting back to the occurrence prior.

--- (Flashback)

_"Okay, class, the next step will be the most crucial part in the recipe. If you mess this one up, there is a good possibility your whole cake will get ruined. Remember, do it exactly as I tell you. Don't take twists and turns to attempt adding in more flavor; it'll most likely result in a massive rock of ineligible gunk. Please proceed with caution."_

_With the teacher's instructions blaring against the walls like echoing letters, it was easy to assume everybody should be able to collect the words. However, in this case, someone manifestly failed catching the vital announcement._

_Minto stood by her table, jumbling her ingredients intensely. Her whitish slim fingers clutched the wooden spoon soberly, nearly causing it to crack. She was concentrated only on her bowl of immoveable flour, nothing else. There lingered barely one motive in her intelligence as she attempted desperately to churn the clammy substance: **Move**. That was it. **Move**. She gritted her teeth, forcing the tableware deeper into the depths of the tacky glop. _

_Yes. _

_She wanted critically for the stubborn piece of dough to budge—even one puny centimeter if possible. **Move**._

_She uttered a gasp of sheer disappointment as the spoon halted—halfway along the bowl's sticky curved wall. Lifting her hands up from the troublesome deed, she frowned, eyebrows weaving together in a scowl._

_"You're awful," she croaked poorly at the unreasonable chunk of matter. "You're really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, awful!"_

_Growling like a hungry bear, she seized the gizmo and plunged it in again. Hardly different from rapacious quicksand, the brew grasped the sharp metal hungrily, refusing to allow it to get through. Minto rejected accepting this. She squeezed her incoming inhalation. Closing her eyes two-thirds the way as to provide sight protection, she began tugging the cooking equipment leftwards. Her wits mouthed the single word over and over: **Move**. **Move. Move. **_

_When her strong exertions bought about no signs of life, her anger level increased. Much like a furious witch, she tugged the utensil at full might._

_Fatefully for her, the abrupt force caused a fair blanket of dough to shove vehemently onto her lower chest. She shrieked soundlessly at the gruesome breakdown._

_"Damn you," she groused._

_"Minto . . . ?" Ichigo questioned wonderingly. The female pupil glanced at the tyro beside her. Her eyes speedily attached to the scene._

_Then, it disclosed. "What did you do to your cake?" she blurted in a whisper._

_"Don't ask me what I did to my cake, ask the cake itself!" Minto howled. She snatched several napkins from the center of the table and wiped what she could off her azure apron._

_"You did put in exactly as much of each ingredient as Mr. Narutaki instructed, did you?" Ichigo inquired. "If you had, I doubt it'd turned into something like that."_

_"I did exactly as the stupid cookbook told me," she answered. "I followed all the instructions."_

_Ichigo shot a judging look at Minto's performance. She carefully backed a foot for a farther inspection. She analyzed her classmate's efforts to and fro from all different angles. Each time she looked, her brow tautened. It almost occurred to Minto that Ichigo was ridiculing her._

_"Gee, Minto, what did you put in there?" the strawberry colored haired teenager questioned as she poked and prod the repellent article._

_"Flour, eggs, sugar, salt—well, you get the idea. Everything needed to make a magnificent cake!" her mate answered shrewdly._

_" . . . You put salt in there?"_

_"Well . . . duh."_

_"Why?" Ichigo questioned vigilantly._

_"I figured it'll enhance the flavor. Everything requires some salt."_

_Ichigo mentally spanked herself. "Minto, we are talking about SWEETS here. SWEETS!" she cried in a forced murmur, emphasizing on the word "sweets" a tad too dramatically. "You are not supposed to dump salt into what's destined to be sweet! Didn't you hear what Mr. Narutaki said?" _

_"Why, of course! But food needs salt! I bet he forgot to tell us to do so!"_

_"Not likely," Ichigo sputtered. "Umm . . . how much?"_

_Minto's lips twitched in rhythm, seeking for an accurate response. "Errm . . . . About four teaspoons . . ."_

_"Oh, my go—FOUR? What were you thinking? . . . You . . . what **else** did you throw in?" _

_On hearing the somewhat scornful remark, Minto shifted her full attention to the hypersensitive classmate not a respectable yard distant from her; uniting her eyebrows to generate a violent yet incensed glare._

_"Stop mocking me!"_

_"I'm not mocking you," Ichigo defended. She looked slightly offended by her friend's discourteous reply. "I am merely stating a fact!"_

_"Well . . ." Minto huffed, turning away insolently. "You could have fooled me."_

_"Okay, class three, put exactly one teaspoon of baking powder and one teaspoon of baking soda in," Mr. Narutaki commanded, cutting the two at variance girls' conversation short. "Don't misunderstand between SODA and POWDER."_

_Ichigo injected one last disgusted look at Minto's so called "production" before carrying out the ordered task. Cycling around in an, "I'll show you the correct techniques" attitude, she seized a flour coated teaspoon from the messy table. Perturbed by the layer of unwanted crust, she wiped the metal off on her apron, cleaning and revealing the true shiny nature of its structure. Being the determined girl she was, Ichigo didn't want to risk getting the measurements incorrect. Subsequently grabbing the small palm-fitting container of baking powder, she dumped exactly one teaspoon of the content into her bowl. The baking soda followed suit._

_Minto couldn't help but envy the functioning girl as she stirred her almost through cake without faltering. The mixture was decent—no, more then decent. It looked great. Watching Ichigo's confident spiraling turned her rage level up, up, up._

_"See, Minto, it's important to follow directions," Ichigo said after completing her exercise. She set the creamy filled item down._

_However, the navy haired girl wasn't the least paying awareness. She was engaged in pure anger. Ichigo didn't notice at first glance, but when she did caught sight of her friend attacking her cooking materials viciously, slamming various tools into her rock-hard cake, daring it to stay rigid any longer, she immediately sweat-dropped a thousand beads._

_"Uh . . . Minto . . .?" she whispered in awe, voice sounding more like exclaiming in terror rather than actual whispering. "You're . . ."_

_The perplexed girl pulled her throat to a halt on hearing a spiteful snicker coming obliquely from her position. She jerked her neck up. It was none other than Kisshu, one of the worst class clowns in the entire school. She glared coldly. Kisshu, unfortunately, failed to detect the penetrating stare. His concentration was fixated on something else. And Ichigo quickly found out what it was. Before she could tell him to back off, get lost, cut it out, or anything fitting in that category, Minto had already opened her mouth to an unpleasant sizzle._

_"What do you think you're looking at?" she croaked._

_"At you, of course," __Kish__ answered in a too casual of tone. "Oh, I mean, your beautiful cake."_

_Minto felt her cheeks madden in mortification and she dropped her stirring tool instantly._

_"You have no right to do so," she hissed._

_"It's a free country . . . besides, I worried you're sick. You don't look like you're in any shape of the sort to cook—if anything, it'd have to take someone who has serious imagination problems to make an unconventional dessert the likes of that. . . ."_

_Minto grimaced. Practically steaming on the inside, she closed a fiery, flaming, hand around one of her tools, nearly causing it to break. This was the best her brain gained as a plan to help hold back her uprooting anger. She silently pleaded for the fight to collapse as soon as it began, but, unluckily for her, it had merely activated. The jade-haired alien tackled her with yet another unpleasant remark._

_"I don't blame you, you know. You've never had to cook," he acknowledged. He allowed a slight laugh to escape his throat. "If I'm on the right track—or if you are going to continue at this rate, you'll make the most awful wife in __Tokyo__!"_

_"Well look who's talking!" she snapped, attempting to match his level; and quickly at that. "Look! You're not doing it correctly either so you're the one to talk?" _

_She pointed, striking a finger at __Kish__'s work._

_Unexpectedly, a new insult meandered into her head. She felt strangely lucky as the stimulation registered. Her lips curled up to expressed a wicked grin. She pondered about the new mouth weapon, preparing to launch it._

_"I see now . . . it's no wonder **Ichigo** never praised your homemade food back then . . ." she snickered, eyeing the competing boy's flour drenched hands._

_An offended and take-back growl signified she had struck the spot. __Kish__ had often showed up by Ichigo's desk frequently with batches of home snacks to offer. Minto was always there interfering, to ward him away. Not as though it mattered. Ichigo would have done the same. _

_"How dare you say that!" he hissed. "How dare you bring Ichigo into the conversation!"_

_It was painfully obvious. __Kish__ finally jumped into battle mode. Only he had arrived at the border too late. Minto now held the advantage to overpowering the developed argument._

_"Well, it's true, isn't it?' she countered, slipping both arms behind her back in a vain way. "I mean, I remembered all those times you resulted as a failure when you bought the cookies to class. They were made using your own hands might I add." A devious glint emerged on the side of her left orb._

_Minto hadn't noticed, but Ichigo was slightly blushing at the mention of her name. The outsider of the conflict zone had an uncomfortable look on her face. Her pink cheeks came no later the recollection of Kisshu's hard efforts being dismissed cruelly by her over the few years rose. She appeared the have shrink five inches as a few students watching the secretive squabble rotated to her angle. The whispery yelling from Minto and __Kish__ was attracting quite a few numbers of people. It was quite horrendous how swiftly the event expanded. _

_That's it!" __Kish__ roared lowly. "At least I can handle the "structure", even though I dumped in wrong "contents"! I got one part down, unlike you. You're so lazy; you'll never learn to cook properly! Consider yourself the dumbest chef in the world!"_

_Minto diverted her gaze. "That so?" she asked._

_Kish__ crossed his arms slyly. He forced a teasing smirk. "Just as I predicted. All riches are useless. They can't even bake a pie the right side up."_

_She raised her eyebrows in fury._

_"A rich girl? Me?"_

_"Richy, richy, richy!" he prattled._

_"Why you little--"_

_"You rich, rich, rich, rich, rich, spoiled girl!" __Kish__ gibbered. "Minty is a rich girl!"_

_"You freaky eared single!" she hollered._

_"Inexperienced wife!"_

_"Jerk!"_

_"Spunky woman!"_

_"Grinning fish!"_

_The battle over wits continued. Numerous teens exchanged confused glances. Even Pai, the young, calm teen who ignored practically everything that goes on around him was influenced by the hot dispute._

_"I bet you can't make something decent enough for one person's satisfaction," he challenged._

_"I bet I can!" Minto opposed finding it the wisest she could say to maintain her strong point._

_"Can not!"_

_"Can too!"_

_"Can not!"_

_"Can too!"_

_"Can not!"_

_"Can too!"_

_"Can not!"_

_"Can TOO!"_

_"Fine!" Frustrated, he sat down. "Fine, Minty . . . I'm going to hold that bet."_

_"What?"_

_"You know the cooking contest coming up?" he asked._

_She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Sure, she recognized the competition. There had been a poster by her locker just the other day informing teenagers to give it their best shot at the fest._

_"What about it?"_

_"Well, we are to enter it!" __Kish__ pronounced pompously. "You and I! We—"_

_"The person who gets the higher score tallied wins the bet!" she declared, half agape at herself for complying with his settlement so soon. "IF I WIN, YOU HAVE TO BE MY SERVANT FOR THREE MONTHS!"_

_Kish__ snickered. "But if I win, you have to be MY slave for three months."_

_Minto bit he tongue. This was something uncalled for. If she won, it'd be a straight victory for her. Surely, she stood a pretty balanced hand. She knew the boy leering at her had bad cooking abilities just like her. More than likely, they'd end up both failures so the bet would have to be eliminated. Her heart lightened vaguely upon the persuasive thought. She gave the lingering problem a one word answer._

_"Fine."_

--- (End Flashback)

"Minto, just so you'll have a road to freedom in case you end up bringing up the rear . . . I think you should--"

"Oh, god, Ichigo! You're driving me nuts!" Minto shouted, loud enough for a couple discussing closely together by a classroom door to jolt apart in alarm.

"But Minto, Are you sure?"

"YES, I AM **_SURE_**!" she yelled. "If you don't stop that babbling mouth of yours this instant, you'll MAKE me lose! Then . . . then . . ."

" . . . Then, what?"

"Then I'll personally have to MURDER you!"

* * *

**Apple:** This chapter is pretty identical to chapter one, but it plays an important part in keeping the story stable. (Uh . . . YAY! YAY!)Now I have to work on 'Music Descends' for Purin and Taruto. 

_Question for readers: Who'd you like to win? _

Many Thanks to: **Yushina Janke, Kamrya, Sohma Ritsu, Blackdevil, Mew Sahara, Phoenix Tigerlily, Young Wizard Link, Ferret Love, Ayaka-san, Mika Suzuhara, Dragon and Sword Master, **for the comments as it helped. I'll make sure to return the deed if you have stories ofyour own!


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